


Better Days

by romanticalgirl



Series: December Ficlets 2010 [2]
Category: Southland
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 12-11-10</p>
    </blockquote>





	Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12-11-10

Cooper hates being sober. It’s one of the small things that he lets get to him, since he’s opted for a life filled with jobs where part of what he does is let other people tell him what to do. Being told he can’t drink pisses him off, and he wants to yell at the people behind the desk or in the little circles that he abuses pills, thank you very goddamned much, not booze, but he has a feeling someone would mention splitting hairs, and he’s trying very hard to stay out of jail for beating the shit out of hippie pacifist Narcotics Anonymous meeting leaders.

They all drink coffee and eat doughnuts and talk about feelings, about how they wish they could dive back into the bottles, how the sound of someone shaking a prescription pill bottle makes them hard in the cock and weak at the knees. Cooper did it for the fucking pain, and he’s pretty sure he’s nothing like any of them. His handbook informs him that each one of them feels like they’re nothing like him too, so he stays in the uncomfortable folding chair and tries not to glare.

He’s probationary on the force, subject to random drug testings and sobriety tests. Chickie turned him in and Sherman won’t work with him, or maybe it’s the other way around. All he knows is that it sucks and will continue to suck until he can get back in a car and on the beat, sitting through bullshit and garbage days like the cop he fucking is.

There’s a motorcycle parked in his driveway, and it takes him a moment to process what that means. He knows what he thinks it means, but that doesn’t have anything to do with reality, because the last time he saw Sherman’s face it was filled with disgust and disappointment and Cooper doesn’t do regret or apologies. But it’s sure as shit Sherman sitting on John’s front steps with a cardboard carrier of coffee and a box of fucking doughnuts. “If you’re here to preach to me about being clean, I will kick your ass from here to Ventura Boulevard.”

“Like you’d listen.”

“Damn straight.”

Sherman’s mouth quirks and Cooper rolls his eyes. “Gay jokes? That’s where we are now?”

“You said it, not me.” Sherman stands up. “You going to let me in?” 

Cooper moves up and unlocks the door, pushing it open for Sherman. He lets the motion answer for him, not sure he can say the words, knowing what they mean.


End file.
